


Rhythm of home

by nymphori



Series: 1001 ways to be romantic [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6123367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphori/pseuds/nymphori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>466-1:</b> morning rituals</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhythm of home

It makes such a nice change to wake up to Bokuto in his bed.

Tetsurou no longer greets the morning with a groan and a bang as he sends his phone sprawling across the floor in his attempt to shut off the alarm - which of course only makes things worse as the next time it rings off he has to get out of bed to silence it so as not to disturb his neighbours with the noise. Tetsurou now doesn’t escape the embrace warm covers to the harsh reality that is the frigid morning air. He doesn’t sit to breakfast, news on for background noise as he rushes about to prepare for the day ahead.

It’s just Bokuto in his bed, it’s the only difference, but it changes so much.

With Bokuto in his bed, Tetsurou wakes to his first alarm, rouses quickly to switch it off but does so gently so as not to disturb him. Here, he has nine minutes until it goes off again to do nothing. He has time to bury himself in the warmth of Bokuto’s body sprawled out next to him, to trace finger tips down slackened cheeks and paw lovingly through his mane of hair. Bokuto will mumble something sleepily, incoherently, before trapping Tetsurou, arms and hands, body and soul, in a crushing embrace. It’s suffocating but just enough; just enough to think that he never wants to leave.

Always when the second alarm goes off, Bokuto holds on tighter.

Always when the second alarm goes off, Bokuto will follow him from the bed, arms still wrapped so tightly it hurts; arms wrapped so tight that when Bokuto eventually lets go, the marks stay. The air finally gets a chance to kiss at his skin, but first it must weave it’s way through the red marks that Bokuto has left; it can kiss Tetsurou only through the embrace of his favourite person. It makes the air feel less biting, less cold. The warmth of Bokuto clinging long after the touch is gone.

The touch lasts long into getting dressed, into leaving and working, and all through the day Tetsurou feels that rough grip on him. Tight and loving, clinging so hard simply because they can, simply to prolong the moments in which they are together. Holding on hard enough that the memory remains. The touch, the pressure, the way the air moves around them; so everything can be retained for the lonely mornings. For the mornings where it all just becomes too much, for the mornings when months have never felt so long.

He will always marvel at the way that cooking breakfast for two feels so much nicer than breakfast for one.

Tetsurou finds himself more often than not talking himself down from buying something, because cooking is so much effort. It's so much work, and unless he rushes, breakfast usually means coming home with chores to do already. Waiting on the bench and by the sink. The mornings can be too much, though not when Bokuto is here.

He makes the air feel fresher, and cooking is not a chore, not too much energy spent. Not when he gets to hear Bokuto moan. It doesn’t have to be anything special, the most basic of meals has him showing his appreciation, and Tetsurou laps up every instant of it. From the light in his eyes, the rise of his lips, the glint of his teeth, the groan that pulls from the back of his throat. Exaggerated? Maybe. But he really won’t have it any other way.

The background noise of the television gets lost to the sound of Bokuto trawling through what the internet has provided during the night. Jokes and comics that Bokuto can barely get to the end of before giving in to laughter, the same sad note to his voice as he reads through stories on war torn countries and looks through the listings of missing pets. He always ends his trawl online with the weather.

Tetsurou never listens for the weather when he is on his own. What need does he have for it? There’s the five minute walk to the station from home, but on the other side of the tracks he’s practically dropped off at the department’s doorstep where he will spend the rest of his day. Sun and rain, wind and snow, they have no lasting effect. He can last five minutes overdressed or underdressed, and then he spends the day in climate controlled comfort. The weather is simply a tool to bring out boring conversation in elevators with people who don’t know how to live in a moment of silence.

Bokuto changes things. He doesn’t tell Tetsurou a forecast or a temperature, at least not in regards to what Tetsurou can expect when he steps outside. Bokuto’s forecast comes in the form of where the perfect spot for a date would be, how many hours of intimate activities could be accomplished before the need to take shelter or cover up would take over. It comes in what clothes he would where were he in another place, another country, of what the weather would be like were they holidaying elsewhere. Always, at the end, Bokuto tells of what animals will be happy, of how the plants will react, of the songs that nature will sing this day, and whether they sing for light or liquid.

When Bokuto reads out the weather, Tetsurou gets to learn of another life they could have had, had this one not been in the way.

Then he has to dress, to pull on his pants and inspect his creases. To dust his hands over black or blue or grey and look for stray marks and hair and dust. On these mornings, Bokuto comes in and fixes his tie, because he likes to do so even though he hates to wear them. With everything else they do, it is this that Tetsurou misses the most, this is where he finds his heart breaking, on the mornings when Bokuto is not here. They have done so much and do so much together, but it is with Bokuto’s hands at his neck, eyes cast down and hair falling over his face that Tetsurou feels the most for the man in front of him. It is this, one simple action, that makes his heart beat out slow and steady in his chest the rhythm of home.

This is the moment he wants to live, to repeat, day in, day out, for the rest of his days. The short moment that lasts only from hands pulling the material around his neck until Bokuto lifts his face up again, proud smile covering his face as if this is something he had worked hard for.

They did work hard for it in a way, years and years of months apart with only days together. It’s a nice change to be able to do these everyday things together that they don’t get to do everyday.

Following it all is a press of lips, gentle, loving. A farewell for another day, for only a day.

Only today Tetsurou wants it to last longer, because today is the last of these days. Tomorrow brings with it a different morning, and old routines.


End file.
